


a study in rust

by ephemeral_fallacy



Category: End Roll (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Multi, Spoilers, Yikes (tm)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-21
Updated: 2016-09-23
Packaged: 2018-08-16 11:48:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8101294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ephemeral_fallacy/pseuds/ephemeral_fallacy
Summary: of what could've been.





	1. i. things look up for once

**Author's Note:**

> Low Quality Spam™ here we go. Gotta establish myself somehow.

Once upon a time, he would’ve been happier. Not really _happy,_ not in the sense of the word, but he wouldn’t have hands coated in copper, eyes like muddy sapphires, or the shattered family that still haunted him like black specters over his shoulder. He’d be…something different.

 

He’d smile more often.

 

Not the rueful, bittersweet smiles he’d give Chris before (and Chris, being the good guy steeping in his bitter-coffee atmosphere, he wouldn’t comment on it—that was what Russell liked about him: questions never dropped from him and so, he wouldn’t have to answer anything. In that way, could they really be called friends? They both knew nothing about each other, but that was just how he liked it. He wasn’t really sure if he’d still talk to him, if he _knew_ ), but something a little more angelic. A little purer. You know, the kind of curl to his lips when his mom would scrape together enough money to get him a haphazardly-wrapped present, presented by calloused, but familiar hands and a tattered, unsaturated dress.

 

His father would work two jobs: he’d take extra shifts as a cashier in the restaurant a couple miles off, and he’d work as a security guard for the zoo nearby. He’d know all the ins and the outs of these places, but he wouldn’t even remember when Russell’s birthday was.

 

Not that that affected the kid much. He would’ve understood the stress, because once upon a time, Russell would’ve known how to empathize.

 

Whenever he’d complain about his back acting up again, Russell would scurry to the medicine shelf and take out the herbal medicines received from a kind stranger; not so much a stranger anymore, though perhaps he would still mispronounce his name.

 

_Kantera. Sometimes, Russell would find himself tasting that name between his tongue and palate. How exotic. He would smell of an eastern dream and spicy incense, and the sound of his robes swishing would always bring a kind of odd nostalgia. He could listen to his whimsical tales for hours over simmering tea and sweet manjuu. The medicine seller even offered to take him to the lake nearby to fish–what kindness, what genuinity..._

 

And he would feel guilt, and pity, and sadness, and he’d know how to console people because “pity” was no longer just lip service.

 

_They made a grave for the sweet, snow-colored rabbit. Sent her off with teary smiles and some wildflowers picked from a neighbor’s garden and his mother held him when he cried, ran her meticulously scrubbed fingers through his hair and told him everything would be alright._

 

But, he’d visit his father after dinner, his stomach full for once, and he’d make friends with the monkey keeper because there would be something about his demeanor (the lax, nonchalant, easygoing atmosphere. Maybe something about the way he’d ruffle his hair and offer him his favorite chocolate; not that Russell particularly enjoyed it, but the man–Tabasa–would look surprisingly pleased whenever he took it from him…) that was just inviting. He was warm…

 

_He stole his coat once, the long, green, hooded coat he always wore. It smelled like him, and it felt like he had a big brother._

 

And he’d bring his friends, much to Tabasa’s pleasure: a pretty, dainty-looking, but ever so mischievous classmate named Gardenia (a beautiful name that fit her love for yellow dresses, but they’d always get dirty ‘round the edges with all of their romping and play), the girl he’d always see at church with the quite cute pigtails, Cody, and occasionally, even the stuffy priest would drop by with them, though _why,_ they couldn’t understand (he’d take one look at Tabasa and go running off by himself, muttering something about unholiness and needing to pray).

 

_Well, he’d never take her, no, he’d feel horrible because Chris would’ve told him of his tiny, flowering crush on the pale-haired beauty, but he’d always find himself enraptured by that angelic smile, and he’d wonder how such an existence could be real._

 

_And Cody?_

 

_He’d have thought her as cute. A little feisty and a perfect sidekick, but his mind never quite veered towards what the other boys were thinking._

 

Altogether, they would’ve been happier.

 

Not quite happy, in the sense of the word, but it wouldn’t be like _this._

  


_Killed mercilessly without a second glance._

_Trapped in a dreamy nightmare. The coward’s way out._

_Slaughtered by your own guilty hand._

 

_Dancing with the dead, but he’s just another breathing corpse._

 

“It shouldn’t have ended like this…”

  


God, things could’ve been better.


	2. flower crowns for the good ones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> may the king of corpses reign

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> softly yells about platonic gardenia/russell

He didn’t actually think Gardenia would go through with it. 

 

There’s an extent, he thinks, that these dream denizens should go to (they’re only figments of his imagination, really. They shouldn’t act so human, but he can only blame  _ himself _ . After all, these are all the personalities he’s given them–all of his creativity causing them to run around and pretend he’s something good, something pure). He’d imagine her to forget, distracted by hungry mouths to feed, or gardening the vegetables.

 

But, here she is, Darcover blooms gripped tightly by pale, strong hands ‘round their muted-green stems, their purple petals contrasting with her sun-kissed dress. 

 

She looks like a vision, like a walking, breathing dream.  _ Isn’t she? _

 

“Russell!!” Her cheery shout draws him out of thought and his brows furrow for a moment, his shoulders tensing, before he relaxes, as if someone who had drawn taut his puppet strings had loosened (had given him a chance). “I got some flowers!”

 

...They looked familiar. Well, the dark green, semi-polished vase was rather familiar.

 

“...Did you...get that from Tabasa?” He hesitates as Gardenia skids to a stop in front of him, rocking on her heels excitedly. Her facial expression doesn’t even twitch as she conspiratorially leans forward to whisper in his ear,

 

“Maaaybe…” A pause. “It’s okay though!” 

 

She only gives one brilliant smile after another, and with a sudden grip on his wrist, she’s dragging him with exuberant exclamation, the breeze causing her long, snowy locks to draw dangerously by his mouth. Though, he can’t stop running. He wants to run (keep running and never stop, watch the city blur by and it’s just them: just two kids being kids, but, when had time stopped for him to have a childhood?)

 

_ How nice it would be to be friends with her. _

 

Russell’s legs are starting to burn as they pass the Incarner’s Market, metallic voices calling out in pursuit of customers, but when she starts slowing, he exhales heavily in possible relief. The air on the cliff cools his reddened cheeks and tickles his neck, but this is a bit unsettling for him as his mind recalls memories of the rabid monkey. After all, the grave is still there, the wooden cross visible a distance away. The flowers are surely wilting.

 

“Here! Russell, c’mon!” He’s quite lost in thought today as Gardenia’s voice, once more, crashes him back into reality. The blond slumps into a cross-legged position, his elbows digging into his knees as his gaze follows her nimble fingers as she picks apart stems to intertwine the flowers. Though, she notices quick enough and offers him a bunch of the midnight-stained blooms.

 

“Did you wanna try?” She shakes them at him, and, as if drawn by a mysterious force, he takes them carefully from her, cupping the fragile life in his palms. 

 

“It’s fun, I promise,” Gardenia remarks, quickly turning back to her handiwork. 

 

The dreamer only stares and fidgets with the loose blooms in his lap, blankly watching her swift movements, wishing to copy her skill, if only an eighth of it. She’s almost done weaving the crown together. It’s a brilliant display of nature: somehow, she’s breathed life into the flowers despite their dying status, but how? He’ll probably never know.

 

_ He’s only taken life. Never given. _

 

Russell’s fingers have picked apart the petals from the stems when he finally comes to with Gardenia’s yelp of excitement. In her hold, violet petals ruffle pleasantly as she throws it onto his head, adjusting the crooked crown.

 

“It’s done! It’s yours, too! ...It really does look great on you, Russell,” she assures him, despite his reproachful expression surely painted on his face. “Like a king. Really cool...I like it!”

 

“....Is that so…” For some reason, he can’t find the heart to question her words. Though the flowers resting softly against his hair are succumbing to death, something inside of him awakens, blooms, starts to grow in its tangled monstrosity. He can’t tell what it is, exactly. He can’t find the words to describe it. It’s just…

 

_ Painful. _

 

It hurts the more she smiles. It hurts like the weight pressing down on his head, except it feels more like chains, dragging him into a pool of viscous blood, suffocating him as he fights for his next normal breath. His jaw locks, tongue stony, his voice caught in his throat, festering as he attempts to salvage the compliment that he had somewhere in his mouth.

 

Her visage twists into one of worry.

 

“Do you not like it, Russell? I’m sorry, I never–”

 

“Gardenia?!” A familiar dulcet tone laced with loud worry echoes in the area and she’s startled into a brief silence when the animal keeper shows up behind her. His silent footsteps had allowed him to magically appear from behind the duo, though he didn’t appear particularly miffed by her sneaky maneuver. “There you are. What’d you do with the flowers on my–” 

 

Blue hues meander onto the flower crown nestled on blonde locks and his voice seemingly dies on the tip of his tongue. Several blinks pass and Gardenia is the first to pipe up, “...He looks nice with it, doesn’t he?”

 

_ Don’t be nice to me. I don’t deserve this, do I?  _

 

“...Yeah, he does. I’ll let it slide for today. Next time, though...” Tabasa sighs, then retreats with a brief smile. 

 

Russell inhales. The pain multiplies in his chest, a throbbing, writhing rush.

 

_ There won’t be a next time. _

 

_ Guilt +10. _


End file.
